Death Comes to the School

by Catherine Lloyd

  * * *

  An hour later, after consulting with Cook, viewing the puppies again, and soothing Foley’s fears, Lucy saw Robert’s valet coming down the back stairs.

  “Merry Christmas, my lady. Sir Robert will be joining you for breakfast very shortly.”

  “Thank you, Silas. I will go to the morning room and await him there.”

  She was already passing through the main hall before she remembered that Josephine and Rebecca were also still in the house. She doubted the Hall family would be happy for their daughter to miss celebrating Christmas Day with them and turned back to the kitchens, chiding herself for her own lack of thought. She’d completely forgotten about the girls, which was not like her at all.

  She found Mrs. Cooper and was assured that her housekeeper would do all that was necessary to ensure that when the girls woke up, they would be returned to the village, even if one of the footmen had to dig a path for them.

  By the time she made her third trip to the morning parlor, where breakfast was laid out, Lucy was beginning to flag. There was no sign of Robert in the room, but Foley was placing a pot of coffee on the sideboard.

  “Sir Robert has gone to fetch something from his study, my lady. He will probably be back in a moment.”

  “Thank you, Foley.”

  She hesitated in the doorway. She wanted to acquaint Robert with Mr. Clapper’s early knowledge of Miss Broomfield’s death before he met with the young clerk. Why had he lied about it? She also wanted to know if Robert had finished reading Miss Broomfield’s diary. . . .

  In truth, she just wanted to see him. . . . Lucy smiled at her own silliness and set off for Robert’s study. The door was ajar, and she could hear him talking to someone.

  “My dear girl, this is ridiculous. Now, put the gun down, and—”

  “No.”

  Lucy went still and pushed the door with the tips of her fingers until it swung noiselessly open. Robert was standing behind his desk, and Josephine Blake was pointing a pistol at his head.

  “I am going to kill you. Mr. Greenwell taught me how to fire a pistol properly, so do not assume I will miss,” Josephine said, far too calmly for Lucy’s liking. “But I also want you to suffer the way my mother suffered for years because of you.”

  “I hate to be contrary, but I am not aware that I am acquainted with your mother.” Robert sounded as reasonable as Josephine and betrayed no awareness of Lucy’s presence as she took a small step into the room.

  “My mother is dead.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.”

  “You killed her.”

  “Are you quite certain?” Robert frowned. “What was her name?”

  Josephine’s laugh was cutting. “You can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the women you have ruined? Her name was April Blake. You met her here when the Greenwells were visiting their house in Lower Kurland.”

  “I do not recall—”

  “You met her, and you seduced her, and when she returned to her family in London and found out she was pregnant, they threw her out. She was a lady, and you ruined her. It was only because her brother Grenville took pity on her that she survived at all.”

  Lucy took another step forward, her gaze fixed on a large brass paperweight sitting on the table that held down a detailed map of the Kurland estate.

  Robert let out a slow breath and sat down at his desk. “Are you suggesting that you are my child?”

  “Yes.” Josephine raised her chin. “I even look like you.”

  “You certainly share my coloring, but that is hardly unique.” Robert met her gaze. “So you are the person who wrote those horrible letters to my wife?”

  “I wanted her to be upset. I wanted her to know what kind of a man she had married.”

  “And yet Lady Kurland has always been very kind to you.”

  “It’s easy for her to be kind and condescending when she has everything that should have belonged to my mother if you had been a man of honor.”

  “Did you write to Miss Broomfield and Mr. Harrington, as well?” Robert inquired.

  “When she realized she was pregnant, my mother came to see Mr. Harrington at the rectory to plead for his help in locating you. He turned her away. He said he would pray for her.”

  Lucy winced.

  “And what about Miss Broomfield?”

  “She was deranged,” Josephine said coldly. “She was obsessed with the notion of sin.”

  “So I understand. Did you perhaps write or deliver letters for her? Did that give you the idea for writing your own?”

  Josephine shrugged. “Our interests might have crossed paths at some point.”

  “Until what? She threatened you?”

  The heavy pistol in Josephine’s grasp started to shake a little.

  “She did not approve of me using her school supplies to send out my letters. She apprehended me writing to you and decided that she would rather blackmail you herself.”

  “And you could not allow that.” Robert studied his clasped hands. “When exactly were you born?”

  “August the tenth, eighteen hundred and five.”

  “Which means that by most people’s reckoning, you were conceived around November or December of the previous year.”

  “Yes. What of it?”

  “I’m sorry, my dear.” Robert sighed. “I wasn’t in Kurland St. Mary at that time.”

  “You lie.” The pistol wobbled even more, and both Lucy and Robert tensed.

  “I can prove it, if you allow me to. By my general recollection, I had already joined my regiment. Napoleon was threatening to invade England and had built a fleet of barges to bring his troops across the Channel, which meant that I was moved from my barracks in London to the south coast of England. My mother was still alive at the time, and I was bored enough to write to her on many occasions. I believe the letters are in the Kurland archive, along with newspaper clippings of my regimental doings, which my mother liked to collect.”

  “You are lying.”

  “Why would I lie?” Robert sat forward. “If you were indeed my child, do you think I would repudiate you?”

  “Of course you would,” Josephine sneered. “Miss Broomfield was right about that. No gentleman likes to acknowledge his bastards.”

  “Then perhaps I am not much of a gentleman. If I had known of your existence—if I had taken advantage of your mother—I would have either married her or made sure she was financially secure for life.”

  “My mother told me it was you. Why do you continue to lie?”

  Lucy reached the table and allowed her shaking hand to close around the heavy brass ornament.

  “Why would she lie to me on her deathbed?” Josephine demanded. “She was here in Kurland St. Mary. She was seduced by a scoundrel and left pregnant and alone.”

  “That might all be true, but that scoundrel wasn’t me,” Robert said firmly.

  With an inarticulate sound, Josephine raised the pistol, and simultaneously, Lucy threw the brass paperweight with all her strength. The gun went off, and the shot went off target, shattering the mirror above the fireplace, sending a shower of glass over them all.

  Robert went crashing to the floor, leaving Lucy to tackle Josephine and sit on her until the door burst open to reveal Foley and Dermot.

  “Foley, fetch James,” Lucy shouted over the ringing in her ears. “Mr. Fletcher, attend to Sir Robert.”

  Dermot ran over to the desk and went down on one knee.

  “I think he knocked his head when he fell, my lady. He wasn’t hit. I’ll fetch my brother.”

  Lucy’s face stung from the pinpricks of glass as blood ran down her neck to stain the bodice of her gown. Josephine had fewer cuts, as she had been farther away from the shattered mirror. She wasn’t struggling anymore but lay passively on the rug, her face again expressionless.

  Despite wanting to go and see if Robert was truly unhurt, Lucy stayed where she was until Foley puffed into the room with James behind him.

  “
Foley?”

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “By any chance, was Mr. Paul Kurland in residence at Kurland Hall during the winter of eighteen hundred and four?”

  “I’d have to check the records, my lady, but I have a feeling that he was here. He’d been sent down from Cambridge again, was in debt and in disgrace. Why do you ask?”

  Lucy hauled Josephine to her feet. “James, will you come with me and make sure Josephine doesn’t do anything foolish?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Holding Josephine tightly by the upper arm, Lucy took her into the portrait gallery of Kurland Hall and marched her down to view the picture of Robert and his untrustworthy scoundrel of a cousin.

  “This is a portrait of Robert and his cousin Paul. Do you see how alike they are? I would wager a large sum that if anyone named Kurland did seduce your mother, it was more than likely this man.”

  Josephine stared at the picture for a long moment. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “It matters to me,” Lucy said fiercely. “It matters that you chose to malign an honorable man and attempted to kill him.”

  “Why?” Josephine shrugged. “If I’d killed him, you would’ve been a wealthy widow.”

  “Like you killed Miss Broomfield?”

  A small smile played around Josephine’s mouth. “I consider that a service to every child she has ever beaten or attempted to destroy. Did you even know that at her last school, she persecuted one of the girls so badly that the child killed herself? She had no shame for what she did, either.”

  “Rather like you, then.”

  “Perhaps,” Josephine agreed. “Some of us have to take care of ourselves the best we can.”

  “Did it not occur to you to simply ask Sir Robert if he was your father?”

  Josephine looked away, her shoulders slumping. “As I said, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

  * * *

  “Well, that was a rather more exciting Christmas morning than I had expected,” Lucy said as she removed the bag of ice from Robert’s head and checked the swelling. He was lying on the couch in his study, the glass had been cleaned up, and the house had settled back down again. She was immensely glad that the majority of the guests had still been abed when the chaos ensued. “That looks much less swollen now. How is the headache?”

  “Better. Thank you. What did you do with Josephine?”

  “She’s locked in one of the servants’ rooms, and James is guarding the door.” Lucy sighed. “She’s obviously disturbed. She had no remorse about killing Miss Broomfield.”

  “And to think if I’d arrived at the school ten minutes earlier, I might have caught her in the act. Instead of assuming she was a child running away in fear, I would have known she was a murderer escaping her fate. She seems so childlike to have done such a ruthless thing.” Robert sighed. “And what if she is Paul’s illegitimate daughter? Do I have to send my own niece to the assizes and possibly the gallows?”

  “Let’s worry about that later,” Lucy said soothingly.

  Robert sat up and cast the blanket covering him to one side. “I think we should speak to Mr. Clapper, don’t you? I’d like to clear up all the loose ends.”

  “Are you feeling well enough to see him?” Lucy searched Robert’s face. There was a severe set to his jaw, which she knew meant he was still in pain.

  “I’ll survive. Dr. Fletcher says I have a remarkably thick skull.”

  There was a tap on the door, and Aunt Rose peered in. “Oh good. You’re both here. Don’t get up, Robert.”

  Lucy beckoned for Rose to take the seat opposite them. “Is everything all right?”

  “Indeed it is.” Rose settled her lavender silk skirts around her as she sat down. “I wanted to thank you both for the invitation to come and live permanently at Kurland Hall, but I have decided to decline it.”

  “That’s a shame,” Robert said gruffly. “We were rather hoping you’d accept.”

  “The only reason I am declining it is that I have received another offer.”

  “You have reconciled with your children and are going back to London?” Lucy tried to appear enthusiastic about the idea.

  “Ah, not exactly.” Rose raised her head, her eyes twinkling. “I have received an offer of marriage from Mr. Harrington, and I plan to accept it.”

  Concealed in her skirts, Robert’s hand clenched around Lucy’s.

  “That is most unexpected news!” Robert paused. “I apologize for my bluntness, but are you quite sure about this?”

  “I am.” Rose’s smile was glorious. “We are of a similar age, we share many common interests, and best of all, I get to enjoy a second family, including your wonderful wife and her younger brothers and sister.”

  “Does Anna know?” Lucy squeaked.

  “Yes. I spoke to her at the ball, and she gave me her blessing.” Rose hesitated. “I should stress that I told Mr. Harrington I would proceed only if you two are both agreeable.”

  Lucy looked at Robert and took a deep breath. “I wish you both very happy. I cannot think of a single reason why my father will not benefit from your excellent companionship and advice.”

  “And I second that. Mr. Harrington is a very lucky man.” Robert rose to give his aunt a kiss on the cheek. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

  After Rose departed, Lucy shook her head.

  “Are you really resigned to this marriage?” Robert asked tentatively.

  “The more I think about it, the more I like it,” Lucy said decisively. “Aunt Rose will curtail the worst of my father’s excesses, and he will offer her the companionship she craves. Also, Anna will be free to make her own choices again.”

  Robert kissed her hand. “Then shall we deal with Mr. Clapper before we announce this new union to our guests?”

  “I suppose we should.” Lucy grimaced. “I had convinced myself that he killed Miss Broomfield, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. Do we owe him an apology?”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Robert nodded at the bell. “Ring for Foley, and ask him to send Mr. Clapper here immediately.”

  * * *

  Robert hobbled over to sit behind his desk, and Lucy took a seat to his right. A knock on the door announced the presence of an apprehensive-looking Mr. Clapper. He was wearing a borrowed coat, which Robert thought belonged to Dermot Fletcher.

  “You wished to see me, sir?”

  “Yes. Please sit down.”

  Mr. Clapper’s sheepish yet defiant demeanor reminded Robert of every young officer he’d had to reprimand and charge during his military career.

  “My wife and I don’t think you are telling the truth about your dealings with Miss Broomfield. Would you care to change your story?”

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  Robert raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe I suggested that you did, but seeing as the subject is obviously on your mind, what else do you have to say about the matter?”

  “I told you. I went to the schoolhouse, and Miss Broomfield didn’t answer the door.”

  “And?” Mr. Clapper said nothing, and Robert continued speaking. “You do know that I am the local magistrate? If I believe I have the slightest evidence of your guilt, I can have you sent to Hertford for trial at the local assizes.”

  “I didn’t kill her!”

  “So what did you do when she didn’t answer your knock, Mr. Clapper? Ride tamely away to the inn or attempt to get inside the schoolhouse, because you believed there was something owing to you?”

  Mr. Clapper’s face blanched. “What are you suggesting, sir?”

  “That you didn’t just leave but let yourself into the school through the front entrance, which we know was unlocked, intending to claim your reward.” Robert sat back. “I would wager that you saw far more than you anticipated and decided to run away then. Am I correct?”

  “She was sitting at her desk . . . ,” Mr. Clapper croaked. “She was dead, and someone had stabbed her in the eye with
a quill pen. It was . . . horrible. I turned and ran, but I swear I didn’t touch her.”

  “You didn’t stay and search for the jewelry you were expecting to receive?”

  Mr. Clapper went still. “I—”

  “You were blackmailing her,” Robert said flatly. “You were the only person who knew exactly why she’d left her previous job. You were the only person in constant contact with her since she acknowledged her family again, and you knew all about her very checkered past. She was worried that you would reveal that information to the Kurland school board, and she was willing to pay for your silence.”

  Mr. Clapper shook his head, his mouth opening and closing like that of a hooked salmon.

  “Nothing to say, sir?” Robert demanded.

  “It was the first time. I swear it.” The young man looked from Lucy to Robert. “I needed the money to further my career. She didn’t need it. She’d chosen her path.”

  “But the jewelry was not yours. And then there is the other matter that you possibly helped her conceal a terrible miscarriage of justice when she bullied and tormented a child to death.” Robert stared the man down. “Neither of these things is admirable, Mr. Clapper, and neither of them will be overlooked.”

  Robert rose to his feet. “You will remain here until the weather has cleared up, and then I will have you escorted to London, to your employers’ office. I believe I will allow them and the Hillcott family to decide your fate.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Lucy came to stand behind Robert, who sat in front of the roaring fire in the medieval hall. The smell of pine boughs, nutmeg, and cloves rose and fell with the draughts of cold air swirling through the old building. Anna, Dermot, Dorothea, George Culpepper, and the twins were playing Snapdragon, which involved snatching burning currants from a bowl of brandy that had been set alight. They all seemed to be enjoying it immensely, while the older couples, such as the Fletchers and the Stanfords, were sitting listening to Aunt Rose play the pianoforte.